in the eye of a hurricane
by horse-crazy girl13
Summary: Because sometimes everything becomes too much, and escape is all you know how to do.


**Guys. I'm so nervous. It's been over two years since I've posted anything, I think. Life has had it's usual ups and downs, and I've had words building up within me for months but could never seem to get them out right. I've put a lot of thought into this story. I wrote this for me, not for anyone, but I thought you guys might like to see that I'm still alive and writing. And I'd still like to know what you think and what you've taken out of it.**

 **WARNINGS:** this story contains swearing, drug use, and abuse. If that bothers anyone, hit the back button.

 **Disclaimer:** I obviously don't own X-Men, nor do I own the lyrics used at the beginning of this story.

* * *

 _"in the eye of a hurricane / there is quiet / for just a moment / a yellow sky"_

* * *

Though he'd never admit it, the place was intimidating. Large didn't even begin to describe the mansion. From the thick carpeting, to each delicately-carved crystal in the chandeliers, he knew the building had to be worth a thousand times more than his very life.

When they had been brought to the mansion, the Professor had given them all a quick tour, showing them each their rooms, which were bigger than some houses he'd seen, and encouraged them all to make themselves feel at home.

 _Home._

The word sat heavy and awkward on his tongue, foreign to him. It hovered on the edge of his lips, dancing, before rolling backwards down his throat. Choking him. He coughed roughly for a second.

No, "home" was not a word that Sean Cassidy was well-acquainted with.

He sat on the floor, the bed too pristinely made, too large. The floor was better, familiar. Steady.

He stared at a painting which hung above the desk. It showed a man, clearly in deep agony as he laid on his back, a gaping hole where his heart should be. An old woman, with streaks of tears lining her face kneeled at his side, one hand cupping his cheek. In her other hand, she held a beaker of blood and poured it gently into man's wound.

"Beautiful, isn't it?"

Sean spun around so quickly he felt his neck pop. Standing above him was the mansion's owner. He had been so caught up he hadn't heard the man come in. After bowing his head slightly in acknowledement, the teenager turned his eyes back to the painting.

"With all due respect, sir, I'd probably use the word 'grotesque' to describe it, but your opinion is yours to have," Sean said, shrugging.

Charles gave him a brief look before staring ahead of him. "I beg to differ. My opinion is mine to share, if you will allow me to explain the reasoning behind it."

"Of course, sir."

The professor slowly walked forward and sat down next to his new student. They both stared at the painting in silence before Charles opened his mouth to speak.

"There is always beauty in sacrifice."

Sean looked to him, eyebrows raised. Charles merely gestured to the old woman.

"She is the man's mother. For years she witnessed his heartbreak, until his heart ceased to exist. Distraught, she decided that she would much rather die and have her son be whole again, than live the rest of her days and watch her beloved son wither away in pain. She stabbed her own chest and filled a container with blood from her heart, which she poured into him to fill him up again. She died soon after."

Sean looked closely at the painting, seeing the red patch on her chest that he hadn't noticed before.

"And the man?" he questioned.

Charles continued to look forward. "He lived, as they say, happily ever after. The blood his mother provided him with produced a new beating heart, and he later fell in love again with a beautiful woman who provided him with many children."

Sean snorted. "Oh, Hank would have a field day with that. I'm pretty sure that's not how biology works.

Charles chuckled lightly. "True, but that's how sacrifice works. Giving up your own needs for another person is one of the highest forms of love, I think."

Sean held back a snort at that. "Love" wasn't a word he knew very well either.

Charles finally turned to face him, locking bright blue eyes with Sean's. "It's not just a story, you know. There are people who would make the same sacrifice for you."

The young professor watched as doubt and pain and longing flashed through the boy's eyes, before his face turned to stone and eyes hardened in anger, closing himself off from the telepath.

"Stay the _fuck_ out of my mind," Sean spat, standing up abruptly. He walked angrily to the door, not knowing where he was going to go, but knowing he had to go somewhere, _anywhere_ but here.

"Sean."

He stopped, hand on the doorknob, before turning and glaring at the professor. Charles took this as permission to speak.

"I didn't need to read your mind. I said I'd stay out of all your minds, unless I feel you're a danger to yourself or others, and I stand by that promise."

They stared at each other for a second, wise, gentle eyes on the hard, angry ones. Finally, Sean nodded and walked out.

ii.

Too much.

 _Whack_.

It was all too much too soon, and _goddamn it all, goddamn myself, fuckfuckfuck._ The sound of flesh hitting rough fabric echoed throughout the room.

Alex Summers was furious.

It should have been him, he _knew_ that, so that fact that he was standing there, breathing and alive and unscathed except for his bleeding knuckles, infuriated him.

 _deathdeathdeath_

He was practically made of it, a ticking time bomb. The word flashed through his mind faster than his fist could hit the hanging bag. How many around him had died now?

His parents. Scott. The guy he'd accidentally killed in the alley. All the CIA agents.

 _Darwin._

With that last name, Alex threw his entire body at the bag with a growl. He hooked his arms around either side of it, allowing it to support him before sliding to the ground.

He breathed deeply in and out, sorely tempted to blast the entire mansion to pieces. He hated it. He hated the fancy oak doors, the old statues and paintings, the expensive furniture. He especially hated the game room he'd found downstairs.

Darwin would have loved it.

Alex cringed at the name, tightening his fists and watching the blood flow over his hands. He couldn't even feel it. He couldn't feel anything but the pulsing anger. He got up, seeing red everywhere, and sent more punches to the bag until his fists blurred.

Suddenly, he found himself punching air as the bag was yanked away from him by its chain. Alex spun around, searching for the source of the disruption.

His eyes landed on the tall figure that stood casually in the doorway, arms crossed. Erik Lehnsherr, if he remembered correctly. The teenager scowled at him.

"Cut that human magnet shit out," he snarled. Erik raise an eyebrow and released his hold on the object. The bag swung back, hitting Alex, who just barely kept his footing.

"You motherfu - "

"I would halt your tongue now if I were you. I have very little patience for childish insults," Erik said calmly, walking forward.

"I don't answer to you," Alex spat.

"Oh? Then who _do_ you answer to? God?"

Alex scoffed. "As if. I don't answer to anyone. Charles, maybe, for the duration of my time here. But once my job here is finished, I'm outta this place."

Erik stared with intrigue at the boy before him. "Oh, yes, I didn't realize this giant building with its comfortable beds and abundance of food must be torture compared to solitary. Forgive me."

The young mutant glared at him. "Of course _you_ wouldn't understand," Alex muttered.

Erik stared at him for a second before shooting out his hand and clamping it around the boy's wrist. Alex immediately began to struggle.

"What the hell?! Let go of me, asshole!"

Erik remained silent, gripping the boy's wrist with ease, dragging him over to a bench, though careful not to injure his hand further. He summoned a First Aid kit, floating it over to them by its metal hinges. When Alex realized the headmaster's intentions, he calmed, though only slighty.

The older man cleaned his knuckles with surprisingly quick and gentle fingers. Alex hissed through his teeth when he got to a particularly sore spot, the sting finally registering in his mind.

They sat quietly while for awhile while Erik worked, until he finally spoke.

"Do not," Erik said in a quiet but firm voice, "ever presume to know what I have been through, or what I can and cannot understand. I assure you, I have seen far more than you have. I have been where you are and have done it better."

Alex looked up at him in surprise, opening his mouth to speak before closing it again. He looked down and gave a slight nod. Silence took over the room once again as Erik bandaged the other hand.

Once he was finished, he gave Alex's chin a light tap, getting his full attention. The younger mutant looked up, eyes locking with Erik's.

"Let me make a couple things clear: this," he pointed to Alex's bandaged hands, "will not happen again. When using the punching bag, you will wear gloves unless I say otherwise. If, in the future, you feel such a need to hurt something, you will come to either myself or Charles and use us as a punching bag, but you are not to harm yourself in such a way again. Am I clear?"

Alex pulled his hand out of the man's grip. He started to say, "I don't have to lis - " but Erik held up a finger.

"I know you think you're your own God or something, but while you're here, you answer to both Charles and me. We pulled you out of prison, and we are both much older and much more experienced than you. And like it or not, you are in our hands and are expected to act as such. I am not asking you to worship me, but you _will_ treat us with respect. Now once again, I ask: am I clear?"

Alex glared at him fiercely, a sour taste in his mouth. He didn't realize he'd come out of prison just to enter another one, albeit a comfortable one. He stood up, wishing he could blast the man's tongue off, but bit back the impulse.

"Quite clear, _sir_ ," he ground out. _As mud_ , he added in his head. Erik looked at the boy, noting the clenched jaw and fists. He could practically feel the tension radiating off of him.

"Very well." Alex took this as a dismissal, and started to walk away, but a hand grabbed his wrist again, gentler this time. Alex locked eyes with him. When Erik spoke next, he emphasized every word, not letting go of his hold.

"What happened was not your fault."

Alex froze.

 _notyourfault notyourfault Shawkilledhim_

 _allyourfault allyourfault youkilledhim_

Erik watched as the two completely different notions battled within the teen. He felt the boy's hand begin to tremble with anger and grief and confusion. Alex felt raw heat rise within him. The walls seemed to press in on him, and

 _too much._

There was too much, so he did the one thing he'd always been good at.

He ran.

ii.

"Checkmate."

Erik looked at the board in surprise, not realizing they'd gotten so far into the game. It had all passed in a blur, with Charles talking about nonsensical topics here and there, and Erik nodding absentmindedly.

"So it would seem," Erik said, bowing his head slightly in acknowledement of his defeat. Charles studied him for a moment.

"But I don't need to be a telepath to see that that's the last thing on your mind at the moment. What is troubling you, brother?"

Erik began putting each of the pieces back into their original places, stalling for time. What was troubling him?

Maybe it was the fact that here he was, quietly playing chess while the man who had murdered his parents is plotting to start a nuclear war.

Or perhaps it was the look of pain in the eyes of the blonde boy he'd encountered earlier that day, the heat of anger radiating off the teen a feeling the older man was all too familiar with.

Or was it the flash of worry he felt when he thought of said boy? Because he, Erik, was there for one reason only: to train the students as soldiers for the inevitable battle with Shaw. He was not supposed to be feeling concern at the sight of bloody knuckles and a guilt-ridden, grief-stricken teenage boy he hardly knew.

No, he was supposed to be drawing out strategies, planning on how to best exploit each of the students' abilities to use in the capturing of Shaw. He bit back a groan of frustration. Emotions. How terribly fucking inconvenient.

Erik voiced none of these thoughts, however. Instead, he took hold of a black chess piece and began a new game.

This time, they played in comfortable silence, until about halfway through, Erik finally answered the question with a simple, "We have much to get done."

Charles looked at him knowingly, before humming in agreement.

He knew that Erik's statement was not regarding only Shaw.

ii.

Sean sat on an old wooden crate, staring absently at the dust that danced in the stream of sunlight pouring in through the window.

He brought the joint in his hand to his lips, pausing slightly when he heard the approaching footsteps. The hatch in the floor opened up, and Sean took in a long drag as the blonde came into view.

Alex climbed all the way in, glancing around the large space before landing eyes on Sean. "What are you doing?" he asked.

Sean blew out a long stream of thick-smelling smoke. "Same thing you are - trying to get some damn privacy around here. Fucking telepath."

"Fucking magnet," Alex seconded, tilting his head at the smell in the room. "Is that grass?"

"Yup. As if I was going to come here without it. You blaze?" Sean asked, holding a joint out to him. Alex stepped forward and took it along with the lighter Sean offered him.

"It's been awhile." He shrugged. "You can't exactly light up in solitary."

"Sucks, man."

"You're telling me," Alex said, raising the joint and inhaling deeply, closing his eyes in content. God he'd missed this. Sean eyed him, eyes narrowing at the other mutant's bandaged hands.

"You get in a fight with the devil?"

Alex glanced down at his hands. "Something like that."

They sat in a companionable silence, each lost in their own thoughts. It'd been a long day few days. They'd both been jerked out of their uneventful daily lives to be brought to the CIA by two young men who were now their headmasters. It was hard to believe it'd barely been twenty-four hours since Shaw had attacked the CIA faculty, Angel had left them, and Darwin had been killed, and God it was

 _too much._

They took in drag after drag, allowing the feeling of euphoria to numb the rest of their thoughts until finally there was

 _nothing at all._

* * *

 **I can't stress enough how nervous I am about posting this. I do want honest opinions, though. I know my writing isn't up to par, but I'm hoping it gets better. I already have another chapter typed out. I was originally planning for it to be a really long one-shot, but decided to split it up. It should be around 3-5 chapters. I'm working on this everyday, so don't worry about me abandoning it like I did everything else. Also, if you can tell me where I got the lyrics in the beginning without googling it, we'll be instant friends. I'm obsessed. Please let me know what you think, and thank you for reading.**


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